I eased my way into the chair of our favourite brunch place, my everything hurting, Sam giving me one of her knowing looks. “Looks like you got passed around the cell block last night,” she smirked as I shot her a-go-to-hell-and-die look.

She laughed as I finally got into the chair. “But David, seriously, what happened? I was shocked as hell when we saw you in the back seat of that cop car; I mean there’s no G8 protests going on. Or any other social justice events scheduled. So my thoughts immediately went to public indecency, but we didn’t see Paul in the back with you. So what happened?”

“Really?” I said cocking my eyebrow at my best friend. “You figured all that out and you didn’t even bother to call Paul to try and find out more? “

“Well of course I did, but he hung up the phone on me and raced down to the police station. So what the hell happened, you bitch?”

The waiter came up to us and filled our coffee mugs; we both asked her to make them Irish and she said she’d be right back, giving me a bit of a moment to myself to create a dramatic pause as I picked up the menu and opened it, blocking line of sight.

“You’re going to get two poached eggs with multigrain toast, with steamed spinach and some fruit salad. Don’t even pretend to keep me waiting.”

“Ugh fine! SO you know how I’ve started to run again lately right?”

She laughed a little, thinking this is one of my half assed attempts to get back in shape. “Of course. I’ve seen your all black running outfit. it’s. . . ‘cute’.”

“Shut up; it’s slimming and it matches and it makes me feel better,” I bit back as her, it hurt. I’ve always been a bit sensitive about my weight. “But seriously, so apparently last night, an ABP goes out about a chubby Caucasian guy with a beard wearing all black with a gun who had robbed a store. So when I was out for my run, I never hear the cops tell me to freeze; they just saw me running and I wasn’t really paying attention until two of them slammed me to the ground my entire side is bruised.”

We’re halted again and Sam gave the waitress our orders as she passed us our Irish for the coffee; we give her a smile. “Okay so there I am: I’m screaming about what the hell is going on, that my boyfriend is a lawyer and he’s going to sue the fucking city because of this, and they’re just reading me my Miranda rights, until one of them asks where I stashed the money, to which I’m like, money? I’m out on a run.”

“Anyway, they cuff me way too tight and by the time I’m down at the station, Paul is there waiting for me trying to figure out what’s going on; I guess I have you to thank for calling him, since he couldn’t remember. I don’t get to talk to him yet, but I get processed and put into a holding cell with a whole bunch of bears in black running gear. Given the pain I was in, it felt like I was at a Pitbull party.”

“So what happened next?” she asked between fits of laughter.

“Well, luckily, after not too much longer, they actually caught the real guy and we all get let go. Paul is furious and is making sure that my prints are destroyed, and also they replace my broken phone. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts a class action suit. I can see it now: Bear Runners vs the City of Toronto. The media would have a field day.”

Start with two 20 somethings who are deep in lust with one another. Add a romantic night after a baseball game in the back of a truckSprinkle the conversations with hopes and dreams, and add alcohol.

Three months later, girl finds out she is pregnant and boy does honorable thing and marries her.

Two years later, after a night of screaming and fighting, boy forces himself on girl to shut her up.
Girl gets pregnant again. This time boy tries to force girl to have an abortion, they can’t afford the second child.
Girl refuses, life with boy gets worse.

Add five years, and a breaking boy, girl packs up boys and leaves.

I wish I could say the disaster finished there. It took the girl almost 30 years to escape the cycle of abuse that started here.

Inspired by 642 Things to Write AboutTopic: Write a Recipe for Disaster

We were heading north for the weekend, to the family cottage of a friend of my mother’s. We didn’t often do family trips; it wasn’t something we could afford, so this was really special indeed. I was about six years old at the time, and it was not long after my mother had left my father.On the way up we stopped in this little town for a bite to eat, fish and chips if I remember correctly, and while having our lunch and sitting in a park by a river my brother and I, who usually spent all summer long in the water decided to take a dip in the murky waters. When we finally got out of the water, so we could be on our way a huge leech had attached itself on my brother’s big toe.

My mother, a single mother at the time, newly on her own, not even out of her 30’s, was scared out of her mind. I’d honestly never seen my mother so frightened, it was if brother was about to die. She searched frantically in her purse for some salt left over from our lunch, but to no avail. She started to panic, unsure of how to detach this parasite from the foot of her eldest son.

Seeing my mother in a panic, frantically checking over both of our bodies to make sure there wasn’t any more, a man walked by to see what the problem was. Upon seeing the issue he had Chad, my brother sit up on a picnic table and he took a lighter out of his pocket. He had my mother hold my brother’s foot out, and he lit the lighter bringing the flame to the leech, the small slug loosened its grip and fell off. My mother cried with tears of relieve, thanking the man profusely who just smiled at my mother, offered his welcome and went on his way.

It was a Sunday night; my father drove us home from a weekend at his place. There was this sense of dread in the air, I didn’t want to leave, which is weird for me, because I hated going to my dad’s. He didn’t have rooms for us, we had to sleep on couches or on the floor, or in bed with him. But this night? I did not want to go home. Because as soon as I did I found out that my Uncle Sean had died.

I was ten years old, my step father was mad at me for something and he threatened to bash my head off of the end of the banister because he was so mad. Instead of being scared, I was just confused by the threat. Why would someone do that? Why would a grown man tell a child he wanted to hurt him like that? It just didn’t make sense to me, because up until that point I had thought highly of him. IT was unfortunate that it was the first of many insults and abuses he would do to me over the years

I was in a very dark place, I had nowhere to go, being kicked out of the place I was staying at, and when I got to the subway station I had called Kristin, who told me to get on the subway and head over to her place.Once there I had one of the most memorable and magical weekends of my life. After a day in Toronto, spending a bit of money on some clothes at a used clothing store, Kristin took me up to her parents for the weekend. Where we talked, played board games, read, went and got pizza. It was needed after the horrible experience I had, and I was glad that I was able to spend some time their healing before having to go and pick up my stuff.

I was sitting on the couch watching cartoons, my Dad came and joined me for a little while, sitting there with me while I watched ‘My Pet Monster’ and ‘Dino the Last Dinosaur’. It was the only time my father ever said he loved me, my mother left with us that day. I found out much later though that he lied, he had never loved me.

Inspired by 642 Things to Write About Topic: Describe five memories-events you remember really well. Then taje one of them further.

No strings attachedDiscreteBlow and GoReciprocation not required420+Drama free
If you don’t have pic, send on first message.

Is this the future of gay romance? Efficient and anonymous? No one getting to know one another, to learn their names or their favourite colours.

When I was 17 I thought by the time I was 30 I would have a wonderful man in my life, and a great circle of friends. We’d go out sometimes, but mostly it would be about Sunday brunches. Sipping mimosas while I tried not to curdle the hollandaise. He’d get the cutlery and dishes out for our friends that were coming over. We’d laugh at the escapades of Dave and Morley on Vinyl cafe, while we finished things up and waited for the guests to arrive.

The guests would arrive all at once, a good friend bossing herself into the kitchen complaining that us tea drinkers could never make decent coffee and put herself in charge of it. My partner would pour mimosas for those that drink, and sparkling orange for those that don’t, and people would laugh and start to take their seats. I’d start plating my eggs Florentine, with a side of fruit salad, and my own home fried potatoes.

We’d eat and laugh and gossip over brunch. Talking about the misadventures they had at the farmer’s market, or talking about the trip their planning overseas. We’d talk about dreading the work week ahead, and everyone would roll their eyes at me, because after publishing a couple of novels, and the consulting work I do to add to that income. My work week consisted of rolling out of bed and walking 10 feet to my home office. I’d mockingly protest that sometimes I had to wear pants, and they’d all groan and my partner would kiss me telling me he prefers it when I don’t. Which would just illicit more groans.

The coffee master would get up and take order, making Irish Coffees for any and all who wanted them, my partner would start clearing the dishes and I would get up to put the kettle on. Asking who wanted tea.

It would be a beautiful Sunday morning. And it would be our life and we would love every second of it.

But unfortunately that’s a lot of strings attached.
And having company wouldn’t be very discrete
There would be nothing sexual about the encounter,
Although I suppose someone may smoke a bowl, I take no issue with that.
It would be full of all drama of the best kind, laughter, euphoria and fun
And I’m sure the pics will hit facebook or instragram sooner rather than later.

Where’s the hook up app to find that dream on? Maybe not all of it? But just some?

Strings mean intimacy, and I don’t want my relationship to be a secret. I want to get to know someone, and have them get to know me. Where do I find that? Because I am starting to believe it can’t happen anymore, at least not for me.

It is no simple task to narrow down the cruelest thing someone has said to me.

I know how that sounds, but truth be told I never really had any solace from my bullies for the better part of my life. Cruel things were said constantly, and I am not ready to sit with them. I know I need to, this is a skill I need to learn, but I am not there yet.

So I won’t be spending much time thinking about this. Instead, I will share the meanest thing I ever read, despite the fact that it’s true.